Wandering Minds
by TakingAChanceOnJelly
Summary: Grissom and Dexter meet at a conference.  Their minds are not exactly on topic.  There is GSR in this fic.


TITLE: Wandering Minds  
>AUTHOR: TakingAChanceOnJelly<br>RATING: K+  
>SUMMARY: At a conference, two unusual criminalists can't keep their minds on the topic. Cross-over: CSI and Dexter.<br>DISCLAIMER: We don't own them. Jean wants to own Grissom (or he could own me - Jean that is... either way) and Chauncey wouldn't mind having Harry, but nonetheless the characters are property of CBS and Showtime.  
>SPOILERS: General knowledge of CSI and Dexter; there is GSR in this fic.<br>A/N(s): Originally written for the Cross-over last author standing on LJ, January 2011. The prompt was: [character] meets [character] whose the exact opposite of himself/herself from another fandom. Chauncey originally wrote this story and then Jean came in after the challenge was over and re-worked the story.

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><p>Amidst a unusually large crowd gathered together for the annual criminology conference, two highly-qualified forensic scientists sat next to each other to awaiting the lecture from Dr. James H. Wallace, Sr.<p>

While the speaker's topic - 'Determining Proper Trajectories in Blood Splatter Analysis' - was beneath the two men's intellect and experience, different reasons compelled them to attend the class; one to fulfill his quota for continuing education, and the other to appease his 'dark passenger'.

Both squirmed at the choice of the opening joke.

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><p><em>GIL GRISSOM:<em>

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><p>This speaker... I can't concentrate on his lecture. How can I? He just compared blood droplets to Cherry Jell-O to illicit a laugh.<p>

The idiot.

I'm tapping my pen impatiently. That's not proper etiquette. Maybe if I just think of something else... I wonder what the luscious Sara Sidle is doing now?

I'm definitely a horn dog and I'm at a professional conference... She's so beautiful and we're so good together in bed.

How great is it that I can think of her and not feel... empty.

I'm grinning and thinking of ways to nail her while at a professional conference.

Well, the guy next to me is grinning, too. I wonder if he's thinking of someone special?

Name tag reads, 'Dexter Morgan, Miami'.

I've read that name before... Yes, he co-authored a recent journal article... intriguing study on blood splatter. Morgan is more qualified than the man at the podium.

Wonder why he is attending today?

Wonder if Sara would like me to write poetry for her.

But Morgan might see what I'm are doing. Writing a love poem is not exactly professional behavior. Maybe he'll think I'm taking notes so it would seem like I give a damn about this idiot's talk.

For all I know, he might the idiot is good. Nah, it seems he has something else is on his mind, too.

OK, I'll just write whatever pops in my head... There she stands in the doorway... In the distance, I heard ... the bells of a mission. As a view her, I think is our coupling could be one of heaven or hell...

Wait a minute. Why does that seem familiar?

I just plagiarized lyrics from The Eagles. Maybe I should concentrate on the lecture.

Of course... I wonder if Sara likes The Eagles?

_Gee, Gilbert, why don't you make her a mixed CD?_

We could listen to it as we cuddle together... with... her... naked... eating Cherry Jell-O and whipped cream. And some of it might accidentally spill.

I feel poetry coming on...

The cream accentuated the luscious taste of her sweet skin. As my tongue trailed along the white path I forged upon her stomach, I felt goosebumps emerge from her silky skin and I looked to see two, perfectly-pert nipples awaiting my oral attentions.

It needs help.

I need help.

People are clapping.

Oh, the idiot has finished speaking.

Thank God.

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><p><em>DEXTER MORGAN:<em>

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><p>This speaker... I can't get my mind to concentrate on his topic, because I know his time is very limited. I'm here to kill him and not because he's a boring speaker.<p>

Did he just compare blood droplets to Cherry Jell-O to illicit a laugh?

Idiot. Incompetent speaker. Philander. Sex addict. Murderer. The list endless.

The guy sitting next to me keeps tapping his pen on the table. I'll bet he wishes he was somewhere else.

I don't. I'm in the right place, for the right reason.

And Mr. 'I wouldn't know blood splatter if it weren't Cherry Jell-O' keeps droning on and on.

I'm at a professional conference; so dozing off would not be good etiquette...

I'll think about the kill room: Upstairs in #4589, it's already covered in plastic, the pictures of his victims adorning the walls and I was able to link him to twelve victims.

My knives are laid out, waiting for me.

My dark passenger is getting restless, but I am able to control it, because the kill is coming.

The image of Wallace laid out on the table, wrapped in cellophane, death a foregone conclusion, makes me smile.

Wonder if he'll cringe in death or face it belligerently?

It doesn't matter. I'm still smiling.

My smile is reflected as I look over at the guy sitting next to me. He's got a goofy grin and I wonder what he's thinking about.

He's older, maybe early fifties, gray hair and beard. His name tag reads, 'Gil Grissom, Las Vegas'.

Oh my God! I'm sitting next to THAT Gil Grissom, the man who has published more articles on forensic entomology than anyone in the world.

I think I'll ask Grissom if he'd like to have drinks in the lounge after the idiot at the podium has concluded his lecture. Then I can inject the M99 into Wallace s neck, and make the final preparations for the kill to relieve my blood lust.

I ll have a few hours before the drug wears off so drinks sound good for an alibi.

_An alibi is always important. It might keep you from going to jail._ - Harry Morgan.

Shut up, Harry.

Now, if this idiot would hurry up and terminate his rather uninspired speech, then I could terminate him.

Images of the long knife plugging in...

Wait... People are clapping...

The idiot has finished speaking.

Thank God.

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><p>Following the lecture, two strangers met.<p>

"Dexter Morgan." The younger man extended his hand to the man who had sat next to him during the lecture.

"Gil Grissom." The older man replied.

"You up for a drink?"

"Sure, but I need to take care of some business, first." Grissom looked at his watch, wondering if Sara was still awake.

"Yeah, I have something else to do first, too. How about in an hour... in the lounge?" Dexter asked.

"Very good. See you then, Mr. Morgan." Grissom hurried off with his cell phone stuck to his ear.

"Thank you, Mr. Grissom." ... For the alibi, Dexter thought as he stealthly stalked his next victim.

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><p>THE END...Reviews are always appreciated.<p> 


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